


Invisible Stars

by insomniacjams



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Finland, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomniacjams/pseuds/insomniacjams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes people are alone, but they are not lonely."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invisible Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically a story involving Mikko Koivu, but it can easily be read as anyone else, or original work.
> 
> I hope AO3 appreciates this.  
> Unbeta'd - something I whipped up while taking a break from the other stupid story I'm writing.

Near the bottom of the cathedral, on a nondescript brick, someone carved a pentagram a long time ago. I found it once, by accident, tracing my fingers along those bricks until they blistered and bled. "A child," the locals would say, "Should not wander this late, even by the house of worship." 

The summer nights were bright; the sky shone a brilliant blue, devoid of clouds, until the early hours of morning, when the sun would rise to its reign again. 

The night we met, I lay on the hills, and tried to count the stars in the glare of the midnight sun, but I could not spot any. There were teenagers on the other side of the grassy park, drinking beer and listening to heavy metal. They wore pentagrams around their necks- I traced them into the grass, and pretended I could see them in the stars.

"Mitä puuhaat?" He asked me, and I stared, because no matter how long I stayed in Turku, my Finnish was not a thing that brought me pride. "English?" He tried.

"Yes, please," I said, my voice scared. He was the man every adult warned children about. He was the one who talked about lost dogs until they followed him to his van, where he would do unmentionable things in the windowless backseat. I knew I should have left, but it was so calm on this hill, counting invisible stars, and I was petrified.

"What are you doing?" He asked again, this time in English.

"I am counting stars," I told him, pointing to the sky. He laid next to me and looked up to where my finger directed.

"There are no stars," he told me. I could imagine the damp dew from the grass soaking into his sophisticated suit. Men with suits did not lie with young boys in the grassy hills.

"There are always stars," I said, looking at the sky as the clouds began to roll in. "We just can't see them now."

"You're a smart kid," he praised, and despite the bizarre behaviors of the man, I swelled with pride under his gentle, soothing voice, and his compliment. "What is your name?"

"Aleksi," I told him.

"Are you lonely Aleksi, counting stars?"

"Sometimes people are alone, but they are not lonely," I said, because I knew what loneliness was all about. I had friends from school that called me on weekends, family scattered across the globe, and the best sister in the world who held my hand through every disaster, doctor's appointment, and nightmare.

"That is the voice of someone far wiser than his years," the man said, standing and brushing the dead grass from his pants. "Would you like to see a better spot for counting the stars?" I nodded, because I was young, and impressionable. I may have been wise, but I was not a smart boy.

"Where are you from?" I asked him as we walked; I had to almost jog- his legs were long, and under his pants I could see his body defined with the type of muscles a boy could only wish for. "You speak English well."

"I live in America, but I am from Turku," he told me, pointing back toward the cathedral. "From that way, but over here, is where my brother lives. Behind his house, there is a mountain." I knew it wasn't a mountain- mountains were huge, invasive structures on the skyline. I knew, because I'd been to Switzerland once, and there were many mountains there.

"There are no mountains in Finland," I argued.

"It's more of a glorified hill," he said with a chuckle. "What about you? Where are you from, if you know your mountains so well?"

"I'm from nowhere," I said. "I live here in the summer, and in the winter, I go to school in Stockholm, but I am not from any place."

"It's a sad life when you have nowhere to go back to," the man said, leading the way down a narrow path off the main road, and up along the trail. "I hope you find a place to call home."

"Home is counting invisible stars," I told him, following him like a shadow. I expected him to turn at any moment- he was a lot bigger than me, and he climbed the hill with ease. I knew I had no chance if he wanted to take advantage of me, but it never happened.

We reached the top of the hill, and I could see the whole of Turku stretched across my view, the Aura River slicing through the infrastructure. "I used to come here," he explained, "When I was young. I thought this was home."

"Maybe this can be my home too, even though I only come here in the summer," I said. 

"I hope it does become one, because this city is the most beautiful place to be." He put his arm over my shoulder, and pointed at the cathedral. "Have you been there before?"

"Of course," I told him. "There is a star, in the bricks. It has a circle around it." He stared at me, like I had said something wrong. I shrunk back.

"Like this?" He asked, and drew it in the dirt underneath our toes, with a stick. A star, with a circle around it. I nodded. "This is called a pentagram," he told me. "It has no business being on a church."

"But it is there, so it must be there for a reason," I insisted, and he looked away. 

"Let's look at stars now," he said, pointing to the sky, like he did not want to discuss pentagrams anymore. I nodded, and sat on the patchy grass, leaning back against the rocks.

After a few minutes of silence, I asked him, "What is your name?" He stared at me for a long time, before he finally said, "My name is Mikko." He then pointed off to a bird on the horizon, and all thought was lost.

I must've fallen asleep soon after that, because when I woke up, I was alone on this hill, with no idea how to get back to my house. I was alone, and I was lonely.

He came around twice that summer; once, I saw him walking around the cathedral. I asked him, "Are you looking for it?"

"Yes," he said, so I took his hand, and when I stopped, he knelt to my level to see it from my prospective.

"I don't care what it means to people," I told him. "I just think it's nice, here on this brick. It's different from every other brick," I said.

"You're a good kid," he said, ruffling my hair. 

The second time was a week after, before he left town. He found me on the hill, and said, "I'm going back to America for work. I must leave tomorrow morning, but I have something for you."

"What is it?" I asked, propping myself on my elbows, curious. 

"It's just a necklace," He said, but when I looked, he held a silver pentacle in his hand, with a strong black leather chain. I leaned over so he could hang it around my neck. "I felt you would appreciate it." I knew it was handmade; I'd seen them at the market before. My heart swelled.

"Thank you," I told him. "I've never had a necklace before. I won't take it off."

"It's just a necklace; it's not that special," he insisted, but he smiled nonetheless. 

"I hope it will help me get better soon," I told him.

"Get better?" He asked.

"Mum said I am sick," I frowned. "I am here, because my doctor is here."

"I'm sorry," Mikko said, and I shook my head.

"It's okay," I smiled. "I've got this now. Everything will be fine."

In two years, the buildings sprouted, and the towers loomed. The city developed, and every summer I came back to a new skyline, littered with cranes and construction workers.

"There are three seasons in Finland," Mikko joked, "Almost winter, winter, still winter, and construction." I laughed, the sound drowned out by a jackhammer. 

I ran into him jogging along the river, and we sat together in a cafe. He bought me a hot chocolate, and asked, "How old are you now? Can you drink beer yet?" 

"I am nine," I laughed. "I am old."

"You're so young," he hung his head, like he was ashamed. 

"No, I am old," I smiled, "because I was not supposed to live this long." His face dropped. 

"Don't say things like that," Mikko sighed. 

"I have been told to always tell the truth," I said, and he looked at me, like I'd sprouted a head.

"Don't ever grow up," He said firmly.

"I won't make it that far," I said flatly, because I knew- I always knew, I'd be a medical miracle if I made it past my teens.

"Have faith," Mikko said.

"I have faith," I said, reaching to touch the necklace I wore, "but perhaps in the wrong things now."

"There is no right or wrong thing to believe in," Mikko said, his eyes dancing under the dim lights of the cafe. 

"I believe that there will always be summer, in the coldest winter," I told him. "I believe there will be the hills, the mountain you showed me, and the stars."

"Those are not wrong things," Mikko said, taking a sip of his coffee. "There is nothing wrong with having faith in the consistency of seasons."

"I have faith in you," I said to my hands, wrapped tightly around the mug of hot chocolate, a swirling mess of whipped cream, marshmallows, and chocolate sauce. "I know you'll be here, every summer."

"I always come back," Mikko said. "I come home when I can, but work takes me far away sometimes."

"You are my summer," I told him that day, looking up from my drink, and straight into his eyes. He smiled, with his face but not his lips.

"I hope you're happy with me," Mikko said, "because I am not always a happy man."

"I know," I told him. "I think you're lonely, even if you're not always alone." Mikko stared.

"You're nine," he said, incredulous.

"I think so," I said. "That's what the doctors tell me."

"I might not always be your summer," he said suddenly. "I may have to leave early this year, and I don't know if I'll be back right away."

"That's okay," I said, reaching up to the necklace again. "You'll always be here."

"Aleksi, don't ever change," Mikko said, and I smiled, wide, with lots of teeth. He laughed, and when he said he had to go, I climbed that mountain, and watched the river rushing through the city until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore.

After that year, visits were sporadic. The next summer, he came through once or twice, but I had no phone number, and the new experimental drugs my doctor had me taking were rough on my body.

He told me about it the year after, when he said, "I worried when I didn't find you on the hills, on the mountain, or at the cathedral."

"I do go to the river sometimes," I told him, because I didn't need him to worry about the new drugs, which were mostly working now, even though I was tired more often than not.

"I didn't see you there either," he said sadly, and I shrugged. 

"I guess we missed each other. How was your year?"

"It was good to me, and my team," he said, eyes alive with the memories of the past season. 

"Your team?" I asked, picking at the grass near my feet.

"I play professional hockey in America," he explained.

"Wow! That sounds like a good job," I said, envy hot on my tongue. He smiled, and shook his head.

"It can be a very good job, but I do miss Turku, and I don't get to see you all the time," he said, and I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so instead, I just reached up and touched the necklace again. "I'm happy you're still here," he said.

"Turku is my home," I told him, and he smiled real wide, all teeth and lips, like I had just said the best thing he'd heard all day. "Let's go to the mountain," I said, and this time, it was Mikko that followed me. 

The year after, I spent the summer stuck in a hospital bed in Stockholm while the doctors poked me with needles. "We don't know why this tumor is here," the doctor told mum, who cried, and my sister, who pretended she didn't cry. I wanted to go back to Turku, but the doctor said they had to do more testing.

More testing lasted two long years, wishing for the scent of fresh grass and the sound of the rushing river. The uncontrollable fever started in early June; they shipped me back to the doctors in Turku, and I was home again, but for all the wrong reasons, and Mikko still wasn't there.

"Where have you been?" He asked me, as we met the day I had enough strength to see the river. 

"The hospital," I told him. "Room 417."

He brought me books that summer; stacks and stacks of books to read, portable video games to play, magazines to flip through when I was feeling woozy, and a giant stuffed teddy bear I couldn't explain to my family. 

Before he left, he said, "You must be fourteen now," and I nodded, surprised he'd kept count of the years. "I want you to have this," he said, clasping a bracelet around my wrist to match the pentacle around my neck. I twisted it so the pentacle pressed against the inside of my wrist, leaving an imprint on my skin, and smiled.

"I won't take it off," I said, and I didn't. It had started off a silly thing; a symbol carved into the brick of a building, I knew now it was to protect the pagan beliefs of the workers, but it had become a major symbol in my life. 

It was a pentagram; it was Mikko, for every night we lay in the grass or sat on the mountain, and talked about life, counting those invisible stars, like I counted the days.

"I might not see you next year," I told him before he left.

"If you do not," he said, "then think of me."

I wanted to tell him, "The dead do not think," but I knew better then. I was not nine anymore. Instead, I said, "I will, I promise."

We did not meet again until years later, as my health took a turn for the worse, and I spent many weeks attached to tubes that kept me on the edge of life. A kidney transplant later, I was hurting less, but I knew that my days were numbered. "I need to go back to Turku," I begged my family. 

"Why?" They asked.

"I must find Mikko," I gasped.

"We don't understand," My sister said.

"He is my friend," I told her, "and I would like to see him one last time." This time, she understood.

The last time I saw him was a Sunday, after the church service. I sat with my legs dangling over the Aura, arms hanging from either side of the railing on the quietest bridge in town. It was the beginning of summer, not quite time for the midnight sun, but it was still warm out.

Clouds swirled in the sky above my head, threatening the dull summer showers that always came sooner or later, despite the promise of heat. "You are taller now," Mikko said, and crouched beside me on the bridge. "You look tired."

"I look ill," I frowned, standing up to see him properly. I was almost his height now; taller than I ever thought I'd be. I was closer to the stars. 

"How old are you now?" He asked, and I shrugged.

"I don't count the years anymore Mikko, I count the days. I could be sixteen, or seventeen, but it doesn't matter in the end, when it was six years, then three years, then three months, and now three weeks."

"Three weeks is a long time," Mikko said, and I shook my head.

"Three weeks for some is a lifetime, but for me, it could be tomorrow. I came back, just for a few days, to see the river."

"Let us go to the cathedral," Mikko said, his voice strained. "Let us see the brick."

I had to crouch down to touch it this time, my fingers tracing along the familiar star, much like I often traced the one around my neck. I'd grown; the necklace didn't fit over my head anymore. "It will always be here," I told Mikko, reaching up to touch the necklace too as he leaned over to inspect the brick again.

"It will still be here for as long as this cathedral stands, and you and I are long gone." 

We walked that familiar path to the hills, where we lay in the grass, and watched as darkness took over the sky. "It's not quite that Finnish summer yet," I sighed to the clouds, "but I knew you'd be here, and I felt it was safest to make the trip as soon as possible."

"Look," Mikko said, "We can see the stars tonight."

"I could always see the stars," I told him. "They are behind my eyes, in my dreams. There are always stars, Mikko."

"I know, I play against them sometimes," Mikko joked, and I smacked him lightly at his idiocy. "Aleksi, you're so young," he sighed. "What happened to you?"

"I'm ancient," I rolled my eyes at the sky. "You are young- maybe not in your career, or your family, or your group of friends, but you are younger than me. I think you always were."

"You are a creature of odd habits," Mikko told me, and I reached up to trace an invisible pentagram in the stars. 

"I am," I said, "but half of it is due to you." He laughed, like he had no idea. 

"Like this," I laughed, pointing to the necklace. "I get called a Satanist sometimes, and it makes me wonder."

"You liked the shape, as a child. I didn't mean to encourage it," Mikko laughed, but he understood too. He had a huge influence on my life, just like I had on his, and we kept coming back to this same place, to look at the same sky.

"Will you stop returning to Turku one day?" I asked him that night, before we went our separate ways.

"One day, if my brother chooses to leave, and you are gone, I will have no reason to call Turku my home over Minnesota," Mikko said, as he reached out for a rare hug. I let him hold me for a second, feeling his warm hands on my back.

"Thank you, for everything," I said.

"No, thank you, for the company," he smiled, but it was a sad smile. "You're a good kid," he reminded me, and when we parted, neither he nor I looked over our shoulders once.

I knew it would be over soon, not too long after that. I bounced in and out of hospital rooms for a few weeks, but they eventually sent me home to stay. My sister held my hand, and asked, "How do you feel?"

I told her, "I am lonely now," and she frowned, because I was not alone. "Can you bring me a pair of scissors?" She did as I asked, and I clipped the necklace off from around my neck, and unclasped the bracelet from my wrist.

"When I am gone," I told her, "I will not be lonely anymore, but there is someone who will. His name is Mikko Koivu, and he plays hockey for the Minnesota Wild in the NHL. He lives in America most of the time, but in the summer, he will come to the Turku cathedral to look for me.

"On the right side of the church, near the bottom, there will be a brick, and on it will be a pentagram, carved a long time ago. When you find that brick, you will find Mikko, and if you do not mind, please return these to him."

"What should I say?" She asked as I placed the jewelry into her hand. 

"You don't need to say anything for me," I assured her. "He will know."

**Author's Note:**

> The pentagram, the river, the hills, and the "mountain" are all real.  
> This was inspired by Mikko's charity work with Children's Hospitals.
> 
> Thanks for reading; any feedback is greatly appreciated.


End file.
